And the Smell of Motor Oil
by friendlyneighborhoodfairy
Summary: [Nobinary Month #9] Korra is having a bad time preparing for a public address. Asami comes home from work covering in motor oil, and despite the circumstances, things get heated fast. {NB Avatar. Korrasami. Sequel to "True Spirits."}


**A/N:** Korrasami (Legend of Korra) + trigender person. Sequen to my fic "True Spirits."

I seem to have a thing for writing the Avatar having dysphoric issues. My secret headcanon I guess.

* * *

 **And the Smell of Motor Oil**

Korra huffs and stares at their nails. Then in the mirror. Then at their nails. Then at the box of hair-ties, and the pile of clothes that was once a closet.

"Korra?" Asami calls, the front door giving its telltale squeak. "I'm home."

Korra sighs again.

"I'm here," they call.

They hear Asami bustling her way back.

"Fair warning: I'm disgustingly sweaty," Asami says, coming in the room stripping off her outer layers. "And I smell like oil. Something exploded on the new articulator and I had to fix it myself. Sometimes I wonder if my engineers know what they're doing."

"Too bad you're a genius and everyone is beneath you," Korra teases, giving her a tired but genuine smile.

After pulling off her tanktop, Asami walks over and Korra puts an arm around her.

"You look amazing covered in motor oil," they say.

"Maybe I should bathe in it more often."

Korra chuckles.

"What's up, love?" Asami's voice is light, but her gaze takes in Korra's posture, the array of items on the bathroom counter.

"I can't decide which earrings I want to wear."

"I love the ones your tribe gave you," Asami say. "They always look good."

"I'm not sure I want to wear earrings," Korra admits. "And if I do, should I avoid doing my hair so that I don't look super feminine? But what if I want to look feminine? Is there a way to look feminine and not be treated as feminine?"

Brushing Korra's hair away from their temple, Asami kisses their forehead.

"What do you feel like?" she asks. "Pretend people don't exist."

"Earrings. The shiny ones. And I kind of feel like doing my hair. And wearing a blouse and a pair of work pants, because I don't know why, that's just how I feel."

"There doesn't have to be a reason."

"There does," Korra sighs, "if one is going to be talking to a bunch of police cadets."

"Oh. I forgot that was tomorrow."

"The thing about cops is that they like things to be orderly and sensible. The thing about young ones is that they ask a lot of questions."

"So you're really in for it," Asami sighs. "I'm sorry, love."

"It's okay," Korra says, even though it isn't. "Wouldn't be a problem except I feel really insecure today."

While Asami wraps her arms around them, they keep their eyes on the freckle under her collarbone.

"Anything I can do to make it better?" she asks.

"Maybe," Korra murmurs, without really thinking about it. They run their hands up and down her sides.

"If clothes are frustrating," Asami leans in to whisper, "maybe you shouldn't wear them right now."

Finally Korra looks up and meets her eye. Asami's gaze is kind and dark and heated. It makes Korra's heart burst, makes them feel connected—and makes them want _more_ connection.

Still staring at each other, Korra doesn't resist—in fact, their breathing goes uneven—as Asami works the tie at their waist, letting their trousers fall.

Korra leans in and surrenders to the kiss. That touch of lips slipps quickly into something more passionate. Familiar, a thing of which they have a thousand memories, but that doesn't make it less exciting. Korra is fully in this moment: alive and desiring to feel their body moving.

They want to experience every sensation their thrumming nerves promise.

When Asami strips off her bra, Korra is already at her neck, kissing her skin beneath the faint smell of machines and hard work. By now, that scent is one they associated purely with her: the smell of Asami's creativity, her happiness, her excitement over new ideas. The smell of times when her eager genius turns into an altogether different type of creativity, involving hands and mouths.

The smell of times Korra squirreled her away at work, getting her alone in her office behind the cabinet, or on the floor behind the desk, or _on_ the desk when it's late and no one is about the factory…

Asami presses them firmly against the wall, jolting them and making them grin.

"You," she whispers, letting her hot breath flow over their throat. "You…Korra…"

She bites their collarbone, little nips followed by kisses that travel over their skin.

They have their hands on her shoulders, sliding down over the smooth skin of her back. Beneath their fingers are ridges and valleys, sharp shoulder blades, and flexing muscles.

"You're beautiful," they say. "Always were. Always are."

Making a sound of yearning, Asami rubs up against them, bare stomach against theirs.

"I like these boxers," Asami says, voice husky. "The keyhole is just perfect…"

She slips her forefinger into Korra's clothes and runs it along hot folds.

"Godssss. Not…inside," they breathe as she dips her fingers into the slick accumulating there.

"Okay." Asami's wet finger drag up, between the skin, right across the hood of their clit—

"Fuck," Korra gasps hoarsely.

Still kissing them, Asami presses harder, faster, moving with the desperate thrusts of Korra's body. The tension between their legs is sparking with need, until they are fucking themselves into her hand over and over.

"That's right," Asami says. "That's right, let go, give me…"

"Want," they groan.

"You're so beautiful. You're elegant, Korra. You're pretty and put-together."

Pretty. They need those words. The assurance of solid truth.

She pushes that truth over their cunt, up against their clit, and as her rubbing approaches a crescendo, they surrender.

Warm and unstoppable. It hits them.

Crying out, they shove onto her, her palm heavy and hard. All the stars inside their head peak in streaks of light. They grip her with trembling fingers as she rocks them through it.

They slump happily against her. Kneading her biceps, they sense her strength, her solidity, the thousand times they've done this and just how much Asami loves them.

Asami hums.

"I'm so horny," she says between panted breaths. "Fuck. Can I—?"

Weak as a noodle where she has them pinned, they bob their head. Her fingers still shift ever so lightly over their clit… Korra is her slave.

Smiling in a smoky, mischievous way, Asami tugs their hand toward the bedroom. When Korra stumbles against the edge of the mattress, she grabs the waist of their boxers and pulls them down in one swift move.

Korra gasps. At the boldness, the cold air. The promise.

Asami is a mix of giggling and proprietary, pinning their hands as the pair fall onto the bed. Korra leans up desperately seeking her lips and is rewarded with a deep, passionate kiss that presses them hard into the comforter.

This comforter has seen them nude—or partially nude like now—many times. Sometimes they are beneath it, moving hotly and needily, fighting off the winter chill of their small flat. Or on top of it, Korra holding Asami down while the pair laugh and fuck and laugh more in each other's arms. Other times with the comforter twisted around them as they tangle and roll together, legs twined, as much skin on skin as possible in the depths of romance.

This time it's Asami mounting them, having stripped her bottom half. After pushing Korra's legs apart and kissing and biting along the inside—teasing until they moan—she straddles one of their thighs.

Then she presses forward until her cunt is over theirs.

Korra gasps, their face falling into needy awe at the slick feeling between them. So wet; Asami is so wet, and she's rolling her hips and spreading it over them. They thrust up trying to get more fiction.

Joining together—there's nothing like this. Like they might sink into each other. Whenever one or the other's clit slides across each other, they gasp encouragements and curse.

Asami's eyes are closed, her face tense and desperate. When Korra stares at her, their heart fills up their ribcage with a peace that expands into the pleasure.

Getting down to pure, demanding rhythm, Asami grates across them, aimed just so, both of them crying out over and over.

Korra launches into climax even more violently than before. The feeling takes hold of them and shakes them, shuddering. Her body owns them, causing a pounding in their belly that flashes through them in a wave of fire. Overwhelming. They give everything up and get Asami digging right into their soul.

Asami makes the smattered gasps of her orgasm, thrusts growing firmer. Her movements reach a threshold and slow, gently undulating, extending the pleasure for them both.

"K-Korra," Asami says, shakily trying to get their attention, and they open their eyes, not sure when they closed them.

There's fire in the room: actual fire guttering and flaming in the air, creating hot wind.

Asami doesn't look or sound scared. This has, after all, happened before.

"Sorry," they pant, smiling a little sheepishly as they cease the accidental bending. "You just really get in my head."

"Don't apologize," she says. "I'm hot enough to warrant fire."

"Yeah. You get me all hot and bothered too," they say, pulling her closer by the waist.

Asami tumbles down on top of them and curls up on their chest.

Korra loves this: having her against them, trusting them, depending on them. The way Asami has always trusted Korra, effortlessly, makes them more sure of themself than anything else—if they can make her feel cared for, they can save the world.

The pair lie in silence for several minutes, breathing together and enjoying the simplicity of affection.

"I love you, Korra," Asami murmurs. She twists to look them in the eye, so much unspoken in her face. "You. You're always the person I love."

* * *

 **A/N:** Korra would totally be the type to want to fuck Asami on every surface of Asami's workspace.

(I think there might be lurking typos still, feel free to lmk.)


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